Untold stories, unheard,
Told stories not understood,
Love felt less, laws overrated,
Skies seen, touched ground more,
Made less roads, followed more,
Thought less, views outstanded.

In The lonely aimless road of mine,
A stranger, showed me another way,
Lovely as The Moon herself,
Eyes distant as the road itself,
Hair as the dancing corn fields,
Took my hands and strolled yet,
I was never a good walker I guess.
My unspoken words, or the
Un cried tears, She never heard.

Fingers distancing themselves,
A hand, starting to let go,
The Moon thats setting,
The corn fields losing colour,
The road cracking, huh!
A tear to fall and vaporize.
Head to be pulled straight,
to be Looked back never again,

Though at the end of my roads,
I will rest on a ***** muds,
Hoping the same stranger to
Kiss me a rebirth, The painter
of the cornfields, the craftsman
who would make more roads
for both of us to walk once more...

Lost pieces from my heart,
and the green dry veins,
quelled  under painkillers,
yet sedated with pain itself,
by the golden blood of liquor
and the ash smokes with
the shattered whisky glass
on the marble floor, waiting
for her to wash the blood
off my feet, but to gift some,
on my pale and dry lips...

Whisky, all on my veins, the
golden liquor, The fine
malted grain spirit, aged in the
oak barrels for years,
The exquisite taste, with an ice,
or two for its anger to calm,
with zests of an orange, with
a lemon peel hooked on the glass,
with the light sip, savouring it
all over the taste buds, But
Its not why the glass is held,
All the times, its not all, Its,
Its about letting go, of which
can't be forgotten, letting go of what,
can't be let gone, most of all,
Burning the affectionate heart,
to debris, never being able to love.....

The lustrous, half opened lips
as you sleep, and the husky sound
of your breath, yet charming playfulness
of your fine lined eyes, with your
long, well crafted fingers, dancing
along as you dream of pain,
or of merry moments, where as
my hands lay on your voluptuous curves,
ow so beautiful, the moments,
buried deep, within my broken heart ...

With all the pain, subdued
under the sixty's of whisky,
For years, being suffered
waiting for you, weeping.
Yet you were there, like
The Aurora, The glamorous
lights of the north, Yet
You refused to be The Sun.
My heart was lit by the
Northern lights, shallow,
yet bright, As it was to me
You. My eyes would never
tire of watching you, till
you rose as The Sun, Now
my eyes, my hands, my heart,
my happiness, my pain,
belongs to only you, But
as the pain also is yours,
It hurts to know someone else
felt it, might be your friend,
or mine, My everything is,
only your's, whats left of me,
What I am, I am your's,
Someday, please be only mine.